Of A February Sunday

nurture

Feb 19

There were plans to hit the nordic ski trails, but a deep winter storm closed the highway that winds up the mountain. Snow that had been falling since midnight was piled deep where the wind had sculpted it into impressive drifts. And more was falling.

When this happens to your Sunday plans (that you've looked forward to all week) you can either fold up, or fold in. Tuck in, in other words, with things that nourish your soul, only in a different way.

I've always been a winter girl. I love deep snow; love shoveling crisp paths through it. Love the contrast of charcoal greys, blacks, and browns of winter's trees against pure white. I love the solitude and pure, insulating quiet. I love the slower pace; the reminder whispered by the season itself to be contemplative, thoughtful. I love the rest.

There's a remedy in it that's lost in the faster pace of its three sister seasons; a tincture for the soul that can only be sipped from a quiet place. It's fleeting, as all seasons are. I remember this and choose to settle in. Fill the kettle with water, and light a blue flame.

Knitting, and reading, and tea on the other side of the glass from where the snowflakes fell. Thoughts and writing. Listening. Lost in the rich solitude of a February Sunday.